The Next Time a Giant Snake Attacks
by luvscharlie
Summary: Neville and Hermione have gone back to Hogwarts, but things are different with the passage of years. Neville/Hermione somewhat Gen


_The Next Time a Giant Snake Attacks _ by Luvscharlie

_Warnings: __Creepy crawly things, discussion of past sexual encounters (or so one thinks), language you don't want your grandmother to hear (unless you like getting your clock cleaned) _

_**A/N**__**:**__ Originally written for 2011 hp_spring_fling exchange on Live Journal where vane_nt asked for no animal abuse, tasteful humour and an EWE setting. Thank you Snarkysweetness and Shygryf for the beta work. _

"Neville? Neville?" Hermione called out Neville's name as she looked around Professor Flitwick's classroom, where she'd been told that he could be found.

From a side room came a shrieking "meep" sound, and Hermione, curiosity getting the better of her, poked her head into the door… only to find Neville standing on a table, with a chair in his hands, which he was using to attempt to strike at a small black snake on the floor. The snake was paying no mind as Neville, said, "Shoo, go away. Don't make me come down there. I will. I'll do it. Don't think I won't, you slimy, slithering, creepy little beast."

Surely he couldn't be talking to that tiny little snake on the floor. Besides anyone who had ever touched a snake knew they were anything but slimy. They were sleek and cool without even the tiniest hint of slime.

"Neville, whatever are you doing?" Hermione's voice echoed off the stone wall of the nearly empty classroom.

"AARGH!" Neville screamed, whirled around and promptly fell over-table, chair and all. "Oh my God, Hermione, are you trying to kill me? Give me a heart attack?" His face turned white and he seemed to realise something. He jerked the table upright and promptly climbed back upon it, pale-faced and shaking. "Where did it go?" he shrieked in terror.

"Where did what go? I'm sorry I startled you. Didn't you hear me call your name before?"

"The snake. Where'd the vicious little beast go? And given the room in shambles and my bruised knee, no, I think it's safe to say I did not hear you call my name. I was a little busy, you know?" His eyes darted frantically around the room. "Now where is it?" His voice had reached a fevered pitch.

"Where's what?" Hermione asked calmly.

"Oh. My. God. Don't you ever listen? I swear, you always seemed so smart. But that—that is the dumbest question ever. Where's the fucking snake?"

Hermione had never, in all of their years of knowing one another, heard Neville react in such a way. That was language she expected from Ron or Harry, but never Neville. Not in front of a lady. His Gran would wash his mouth out with Mrs Scower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover if she ever heard him talk in such a way.

"The snake! The snake! Where in Merlin's name did it go? Oh. My. God." Neville began to dance around on the table, causing it wobble precariously, and pluck at his clothing. "Is it on me? Is it on me? Get it off. Please, Hermione, get it off me!"

Hermione saw the little black racer and picked it up by the tail, carrying it back over to where Neville was perched upon the table quivering in fear. "It's not on you. Look, I have it right here. Calm down."

"Calm down?" Neville shrieked, his voice at hysterical levels. "Get that thing away from me." Neville was backing up as he spoke… not really a good thing to do when one is standing atop a table.

Hermione sat beside Neville's bed in the hospital wing. She felt terribly responsible for the tumble he'd taken head-first into the stone wall of the classroom. She'd simply had no idea that he was so frightened of snakes, though in retrospect his standing on the table and hyperventilating might should have been a rather telling clue. And she felt a little guilty because she'd been seeking him out for just the purpose that it seemed everyone else wanted him for. To remove a snake from her Muggle Studies classroom. She'd been informed by Madame Hooch that only Neville could remove snakes. That it was sort of a show of respect for his part in the war, and a great symbolic gesture of remembering his feat in chopping off Nagini's head. Hermione wondered if anyone had bothered to tell Neville what an honour this was. He seemed as though he would be quite happy to be insulted by the other teachers ridding their own classrooms of snakes.

There was a groan from the man in the bed, and Neville reached a tentative hand towards his head. "Ooh, I was afraid of that," he said.

"Afraid of what?" Hermione replied. "Your head will be fine."

"Afraid it was still attached, because if so, the chances of it stopping hurting any time soon are probably not so good."

"Would you like me to go find Madame Pomfrey. She could give you a pain potion or—"

Neville sat up screeching the word "NO", then grabbed his head and lay back flat. His next version of "no" was whispered. "Please don't. Poor Poppy's eyesight's going and she won't let anyone help her. Last time she tried to give me a Pain Potion, she grabbed the wrong bottle and I ended up doing a dance and crowing at wildly inappropriate times for the better part of a month. My second years are still calling me Professor Chicken Legs when they think I can't hear."

Hermione couldn't stop the snigger from erupting at the mental image that invaded her brain.

"Don't laugh. If you hadn't chased me with that snake, I wouldn't even be here."

"I did no such thing!" Hermione protested. "You make me sound like a schoolyard bully! Besides, I had no idea that you suffered from Herpetophobia."

Neville's eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. "Oh. My. God. I am totally going to kill Dean Thomas. He swore he wouldn't tell about that."

"Dean Thomas? Tell? Huh? What?" Hermione wasn't following, but it didn't matter because Neville wasn't listening.

"I swear it was a stag party. Things that happen during stag parties are never supposed to be divulged. And I really think that carries over to things that happen after stag parties. One little tryst. One drunken night with one of the girls at the Witches' Switch and, and, and—the Healer swears that's all cured up. Merlin, they say they're your blokes. 'We've got your back, Nev, old mate,' and then they might as well hire owls to fly banners over Hogsmeade that say Neville got the herpetemacallit from Buxom Bertha at the Witches' Switch."

"Buxom Who?" Hermione said, again trying to hold back sniggers. She had, in fact, heard of Neville's "tryst" at the Witches' Switch at Dean's stag party. Though poor Neville didn't realise that he'd been the butt of many jokes since that night. Seems the poor lad had only passed out down below and been carried up to Bertha's room, stripped of his clothes and left to wake up the next morning. Hermione had given her friends a good deal of grief over the warped senses of humour, particularly when they convinced Neville that he'd need to see a healer afterwards, and there was no telling what Bertha might have given him. Hermione preferred to pretend she knew nothing of Neville's shame.

"Oh, oh, oh," Nevile said, realising his slip up. "You didn't know about that then? I'm so going to have to _Obliviate_ you know. I'm sorry, Hermione. Have you seen my wand?" He looked around the cot in the hospital room after checking his pocket.

Hermione grabbed the wand from the bedside table and put it behind her back. "First of all, you owe your 'friends'—and I use the term quite loosely—a good kick for what they did to you at that stag party, and I'd be happy to help you hex them. Secondly, you point your wand in the vicinity of any part of me, and I can think of at least one part of you that is going to feel the brunt of my shoe."

Neville shrank back into the bed a bit.

"We understand one another then?" she asked.

Neville made an audible gulping noise.

"Good." Hermione did some wavy things with her wand, and a book with a large snake on the cover appeared in her hand.

Neville squealed.

"That's Herpetophobia. A fear of reptiles."

"Then I don't have that," Neville said, with a perfunctory nod. "I've got no problem with reptiles. Only with snakes. Look at that, I'm already cured of my Herpeto-something-or-other. I can leave now." Neville flipped back the covers on the bed and shrieked again to find that he was wearing nothing from the waist down.

"Maybe Madame Pomfrey's vision isn't as bad as you think?" Hermione raised a questioning eyebrow. "Perhaps she just has _other_ things he likes to look at besides potions these days." She was unable to repress the snigger any longer.

"Someone should probably report this to the Headmistress!" Neville protested.

"You go ahead. I'll wait here." Hermione opened her book.

Neville started to get up again. "Okay, I'll just—" He caught himself just before flipping back the blanket. "Oh, very funny."

"I thought so." Hermione opened her book. "So, it appears, given what you've told me—and what I've witnessed," she gave the covers a pointed look that made Neville blush red, "you're Ophidiophobic."

"Oi! No judgement! You didn't even get a good look at my—" he spluttered. "It's cold and drafty in this old castle and—and—and…" His words trailed off as he seemed to catch his blunder. "You were back to the snake thing, weren't you? Rather than my erm, yeah." He coughed in embarrassment.

"Yes, snakes. I was back to snakes." Hermione pointed at the picture on the front of the book and Neville visibly shuddered. "You have an irrational fear of snakes."

"Irrational? Irrational? Do you have any idea what it's like to battle a gigantic snake?"

"Well, I—"

"No, you don't", he answered for her. "I dream about it every night. I dream about it going different. I dream about that fucking snake ripping my head off, sinking it's fucking toxic fangs into me and—you have no idea what that's fucking like."

Hermione thought it was probably best not to bring up that she did, indeed, have an idea what that was like. She'd had a very horrible battle with Nagini back during that fateful visit she and Harry had taken to Godric's Hollow. Strangely, of all that, the thing that bothered her most of all was the fact that this conversation led her to the conclusion that Neville had never read the book she'd had published of their seventh year adventures after the war and before she'd accepted this position as professor at Hogwarts. "I'll get you a copy of my book." The words were out before she could stop herself. "And if you don't watch your language, I'll Owl your gran."

"So you'll send me to the infirmary and Owl my gran all in the same day? Are you sure you shouldn't be heading up Slytherin House? Because I hear they plan to sack that git Zabini from the Potions Master job, so there'll be an opening. The Head Mistress said she'd offer it to me, but she didn't fancy having toads for students. She's getting a little harsh in her old age, don't you think?"

"One of my favourite things about Professor McGonagall was always how very direct she was in her statements. She doesn't hedge. She simply tells it like it is."

"So what are you trying to say?" Neville threw his hands wide, as he stood, forgetting, once more in his state of incredulity the fact that the only kind of suit he was wearing was his birthday suit.

Hermione stood, glared her best teacher's glare (the one that she'd delightedly discovered on her first day of teaching sent students scrambling to please) and took her book in her hands as she walked out of the room. She stopped just shy of the door to look back over her shoulder, and give Neville a full up and down appraisal. "Word of advice, _Professor Longbottom_, next time you'll want a warmer room before you display your –erm— goods." She winked and left the room. She only made it just outside before she collapsed against the closed door to the infirmary and giggled uncontrollably at the memory of Neville's mouth hung agape.

This job was going to be far more fun than she could have imagined when she'd signed on for the year to teach Muggle Studies. She was back at Hogwarts, but she was an adult now, not that bossy little girl who'd first got off the train at Hogsmeade Station. She was still bossy, she thought, but now she had some real confidence to back it up. Most importantly, she wasn't the only one who'd grown; Neville had grown up as well… and nicely.

Hermione waited until Neville's last class let out the following day, and when he left Greenhouse Two, she was stood just outside the doorway.

"Hello," she said, as he exited and smiled at the way he startled. "Good thing, I'm not a snake. You would have been bitten."

"You know," Neville said with a sigh, "I think I liked you better when you were a swotty little intolerable thing that no one else could stomach being in the room with."

"With such charming talk as that, it's really a wonder you're not married." She gave him her teacher's glare again and was a bit miffed to discover he didn't flinch when he was dressed. Apparently that only worked on students… or naked-from-the-waist-down professors. Good to know, at least. Those little tidbits of knowledge could be tucked away for future use.

"What do you want, Hermione?" Neville began walking away. "Come to brain me again? Knock me off a table? Chase me with a snake? Strip me of my clothes and my dignity?"

"I would never do those things!" Hermione defended.

"You did them all yesterday?"

"Yesterday was—yesterday was—well, you're making it sound far worse than it really was."

"Says the one of us who did not wake up in the infirmary missing their trousers."

"Fair point. But you're getting off track. That's not what I came to see you about."

"There was a track?"

Hermione was having to take two steps for Neville's every one, as they headed toward the castle. "You know, while we're discussing intolerable. I don't recall you ever being so difficult back during our days at school, Neville Longbottom." She was grateful when Neville stopped and she could catch her breath. "Your legs got longer too."

"I wonder sometimes," Neville said, looking reflective, "do you think those of us who came back—maybe we're looking for a do over of some sort?"

"I'm not. The last thing I want to do is live all of that again. It was horrible. Voldemort and Umbridge and, urgh, hormones. Thank you, but I'll pass." She held up her book, not liking where this conversation was headed. It made her nostalgic; she missed Harry and Ron. "I've come to fix you."

Neville defended quickly. "I am _not_ broken, Hermione!"

"Okay, poor choice of words. I mean, I've come to help you conquer your Ophidiophobia." Neville looked down at his crotch and with a sigh, Hermione continued on in her clarification. "Your fear of _snakes_, not your—" She gave his crotch a pointed look. "I don't even want to know what you were thinking."

"Well, thanks—"

"Oh, it's no problem at all, I—"

"-but, no thanks."

"What? What did you say?"

"I said, I appreciate the offer of help, but I'm not interested, Hermione. I'm fine. Thanks."

Hermione's mouth opened and closed a few times. She'd expected many things, but never for Neville to simply refuse her assistance. She'd done hours of research the previous night, poring over books in the library's 'Muggle Theories and Ridiculous Ideas' section. She had many potential resolutions, none of which were ridiculous, and despite the self importance of most wizards, she knew that Muggles oftentimes had the best remedies. She was excited about this. She—she—she wanted to punch him in the nose for refusing her.

"Fine then, Mr There's Nothing Wrong With Me, I saw a snake in the library last night. Go get rid of it." She crossed her arms over her book and held it to her chest, giving him a 'What are you going to do about it now?' look.

"You do it," Neville fired back.

"The Headmistress says you're the castle snake catcher."

"I'm giving you the title."

Hermione did an imitation of a fish again. "You're not allowed to do that! This is an honour. This is a show of respect for your bravery, or some nonsense, during the Battle of Hogwarts."

"I'm not feeling very brave today, and what with you being part of the Golden Trio, bound to save the world and all, I think you should be given more respect around here."

Hermione almost forgot the argument. She, too, agreed she should be given more respect and she was just about to agree with Neville, when he said, "Happy snake hunting," turned on his heel, and walked away from her, his legs carrying him away far faster than she could keep up.

Hermione wasn't one to enjoy being bested… at anything, really. Being bested by Neville was unacceptable. Besides, she was only looking out for his best interest. Phobias were unhealthy, and what if he needed to face a gigantic snake that held the soul of an evil wizard inside again, however unlikely that may be, it wouldn't be good for Neville to freeze up or anything.

And that was the reason, she resolved to help Neville whether he wanted her aid or not. If she'd learned nothing from her time with Harry and Ron, she'd certainly come to understand that sometimes boys needed pushes… and she was a pushy kind of girl when the need arose.

At dinner in the Great Hall that evening Hermione turned a tea cup into a tiny green snake… which promptly darted into a hole in one of the castle bricks and vanished.

Hermione set three more green snakes outside Greenhouse One during an afternoon lesson the following day; each quickly found a tree to climb and went away.

She sneaked into Neville's room that evening and dropped a black snake in his shoe. He wore different shoes the next day… and the next… and the next.

She tried to hypnotize him with a bright purple piece of quartz. That actually worked… sort of. Neville couldn't see purple for weeks without having an uncontrollable urge for fish and chips. Clearly, something had gone more than a bit off during that little session.

She was beaten. She didn't know what else to do. She'd expended hours of effort in attempting to cure Neville of his fear of snakes, all to no avail. Neville didn't even know of her efforts. Hermione was at the point where desperate times called for desperate measures. She found this degree of therapy radical and she hadn't wanted to go to these extremes, but nothing else had worked.

That night, when the castle was dark and quiet, Hermione crept to the door of Neville's suite of rooms on the third floor. She cast a locking spell that secured Neville inside and then she cast another, more sinister spell.

And Neville began to scream. "LET ME OUT! OH. MY. GOD. THERE'S THOUSANDS OF THEM!"

Hermione attempted comfort from her side of the door, placing her hand flat against the wood-grain. "It's okay, Neville. None of them are toxic and I've done loads of research. The best way to conquer your fear is to face it head on."

"I swear, Hermione," he shrieked, his voice far higher in pitch than she'd ever heard it, "when I get out of here, I'm going to kill you—I'm going to…"

Hermione plugged her ears when Neville began to say words that his gran would surely wash his mouth out for.

The next day, Hermione spent the morning packing her things. She'd been sacked from her very first paying job, and before the first two months had passed. It was humiliating. This is what you got when you tried to be helpful.

Seems she shouldn't have plugged her ears when Neville began cursing. If she hadn't, she might have been able to hear the screams of the Headmistress, who had gone to Neville's room for a chat.

Apparently, the Headmistress was not a fan of snakes, nor did she have any desire to face or conquer her fear head on.

"Well, they're on their own the next time there's a giant snake attacking with the soul of an evil wizard trapped inside." It sounded even more ridiculous when she said it aloud.


End file.
